


Face the Gods on Your Knees

by ambivalentlangst



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altea wasn't perfect, Altean lance, BAMF Allura, Blood, Dark fic, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Prince Lance - Freeform, Selfless Lance, Serial Killer, Sibling Allurance - Freeform, Torture, Whump, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentlangst/pseuds/ambivalentlangst
Summary: Prince Lance had long known, as all of his people did, that when an Altean died their souls ascended to be one with the gods, and their scales fell from their cheeks as a token to their loved ones of what once was. Still, never had he been more acutely reminded than with the bite of the rope on his wrists, staring up at wooden walls that bore cases upon cases full of the markings that had once adorned the cheeks of Lance’s people and the people of his forefathers.





	Face the Gods on Your Knees

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I’d like to say for basically all of May I was dead and now that it’s summer I feel productive and rejuvenated and _lovely._ With that in mind I came back to a WIP I let breathe for awhile, and here we are. This is based on the idea that an Altean can’t live without their scales, and on that note, this is pretty dark. If that’s alright with you, I hope you enjoy! Now with lovely theme [music](https://youtu.be/SFQxkupJE5A) that I think goes beautifully with the tone of the piece, as provided by [lo-tor.](https://lo-tor.tumblr.com) Ily Rainy!!
> 
> * * *
> 
> tw: kidnapping, blood, graphic descriptions of violence, mild gore, torture

Prince Lance had long known, as all of his people did, that when an Altean died their souls ascended to be one with the gods, and their scales fell from their cheeks as a token to their loved ones of what once was. Still, never had he been more acutely reminded than with the bite of the rope on his wrists, staring up at wooden walls that bore cases upon cases full of the markings that had once adorned the cheeks of Lance’s people and the people of his forefathers.

It was a morbid rainbow and had what Lance suspected to be a drug not already forced him to expel the contents of his stomach, he would’ve retched. Lance swallowed, his throat dry and sore. The tutors from Olkari had often told Lance about different poisons an assassin might try to slip into his food, so he might know how to treat himself in turn. As obstinate as Allura claimed he could be, he truly didn’t wish to inconvenience anyone. He tried to pay attention, but a pulsing ache was developing in the empty space between his brows, splitting his head open and robbing him of any chance to calculate just how quiznacked he was.

Lance tried to recall what had happened.

They were with visiting dignitaries, at a feast. Shiro was doting on Allura as always in his own way, cutting an imposing figure at her shoulder. Pidge and Hunk had been (against his parents’ better judgment) seated next to him while Keith tried to remain stoic despite the way the corners of his lips twitched up whenever the three of them said something particularly stupid or clever. Typically, it could be both. They were gifted that way.

Lance couldn’t remember thinking anything was amiss. The dignitaries were delightful, and his food and drink were both served as normal. Lance had gone to sleep in his own bed, and when he had woken up his entire body ached from, apparently, sleeping on the floor.

What recollection he had of past events didn’t do him any good, and Lance was quick to move on. He didn’t need to know what had occurred to get him where he was, he just needed to leave as soon as he could. One of the first things he’d noted since waking up was the absence of weight dangling from his ears, and Lance cursed his luck. If he’d at least had his earrings he could communicate his location, but they must’ve fallen off somewhere during the journey from the palace to wherever he was. He pushed past his annoyance and shut his eyes, concentrating on the slide and crackle of bone and flesh that he’d grown accustomed to when he shifted.

He’d always been quite good with the Altean skill set, he’d always been told, and Lance expected no problems with his actions. However, as he tried to shift, he found something like a wall in his mind, brutally blocking him when he tried to access his abilities. Lance yelped, panting as his will to change evaporated into thin air.

“Quiznack,” he hissed under his breath. Why had that hurt, like scraping his fingers raw on some rock? Not being able to use his own abilities made his skin crawl, and Lance swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. Fine. If he couldn’t accommodate to make the ropes smaller for him, or even to break them from the sheer size of a transformation, he’d just use plain old grit. He began to flex, trying to use the strength that had never come to him naturally in the first place. Where he outpaced Allura in shapeshifting, she was by far physically stronger, and Lance—as usual—thought about how she would’ve already been free and on her merry way in the same situation. Instructors had also told Lance, for as long as he could remember, that Allura, the eldest and the heir, was an honorable fighter. Lance, with his slight form and how sickly he’d always been as a child, would have to kick dirt into eyes and use every dirty trick in the book to give himself the upper hand.

Lance spent quite a long stretch of time fighting with the ropes brutishly, and when that failed, collapsed over his knees, chest heaving as he blinked back tears. All he’d succeeded in doing was rubbing the skin off his wrists from twisting around so much. It made his bonds a little slicker with his blood, but not enough so to actually be helpful.

Lance cast a fearful look up towards the cases of scales, most lined with a rusty color that made Lance’s stomach turn. Scales fell off naturally in death, yes. Tales differed based on region, but the scales were universally agreed to be the mortal connection Alteans had to the gods. When the soul moved on they were no longer needed and detached naturally. Lance wondered how much pain the scales’ owners had been in as they were forcibly severed from their cheeks, and shuddered at the thought. There was no Altean without their scales. Even losing one brought on madness, and Lance touched his own shining turquoise pair to his shoulder for the sole purpose of remembering that they were still in place.

As his eyes darted from pair to pair—largely against Lance’s will, but he observed the macabre trophies with a horrified fascination—he saw a pink pair that looked far too similar to his sister’s, and managed to heave onto the ground beside him, wriggling away from the spreading waste once the deed was done. 

Allura was okay, right? Lance felt awful for not thinking of it sooner. He hoped to the gods that she hadn’t been taken too. How long had he been out, anyway? What if they really—

Lance shook his head and firmly cut himself off. He was not going to finish that thought. Nobody would touch Allura. She was strong and beautiful and someday she would be queen. Shiro would keep her safe. There was no way—or at least, not any way Lance would allow himself to entertain—she could be in this situation with him. Lance’s continuous reinforcements had just begun to calm his racing heart when he heard footsteps coming from somewhere beyond the door, drawing closer and closer.

Lance shuffled forward, closer to the door. If he could just get the drop on whoever was coming, he could escape. His knees were already plenty bruised from his previous attempts at freeing himself, but Lance shuffled forward, throwing his back against the wall to pull himself to his feet despite the faint whimper the action pulled from his lips. However he’d gotten where he currently was being kept, he had not been transported with care, and his entire body ached. Lance’s heart pounded while he listened to the door slide open. He rushed forward, fully prepared to give whoever was there a good head to their chin and to maneuver himself past them towards freedom. Lance was instead greeted with a scaly hand locking on his wrist, and slamming him back onto the floor with a crack of, presumably, Lance’s skull.

Lance only barely saw two faltering versions of the same door close behind the hulking mass of muscle that had come in. White sparks exploded behind Lance’s closed eyelids—a precautionary measure, because if Lance dissolved into hysterics now, he would lose any shred of dignity he still maintained. A voice permeated the fermenting silence, darkly pleased and fruitful in the blackness that seemed to follow its presence.

“Not the king, no, but maybe a suitable substitute. Certainly with the potential to become so, and the matching scales don’t hurt,” the creature mused, and Lance shivered, wiping the blood trailing from his mouth on the ground. It was not the only place he was bleeding, the back of his head felt plenty wet and he cringed to think of the red muddying his pearly locks, but there was nothing he could do about that.

“Who are you?” Lance growled, thinking again of Allura. She was a force to be reckoned with, and their father always described her as a viper presented like a ribbon. Still, Lance wasn’t sure even she could escape someone so overwhelmingly, for lack of a better descriptor, _large_. His captor laughed, and Lance got his first good look at him as he crouched before him.

His eyes were gaping sockets in his face with what looked like coals smoldering in their depths, his cheeks harshly cut and glinting in the lighting from the scales covering his skin.

“You don’t recognize me as one of my people, princeling?” Lance felt an oily fear wash over him, adding to the mounting sickness he felt as he watched the creature’s lips move. Massive teeth—almost unnoticeable at first, they so blended in with the darkness of his skin—hanging down to his jaw moved with them, and it was rightly, highly unnerving to Lance. 

“No,” Lance admitted after a moment, despite it instinctively feeling like it was not something he should’ve done. The alien’s features contorted wrathfully, and Lance jerked violently to the side as a strong arm, just as solid as the rest of him, landed with violent gravity to crack the floor where his head had been a moment previous.

“Of course you don’t,” the alien hissed, standing to pace around the room with footfalls that were heavy enough to shake the ground he trodded over. “When do Alteans ever own up to their mistakes, let alone teach their young about them, and how not to repeat them?” Lance’s shoulders scrunched up to his chin as a bitter, humorless chuckle passed through the air, suddenly sounding hair raisingly close as the sound bounced ominously in the shell of Lance’s ear. He yelped, turning and slamming his head back onto the ground with enough momentum to make the world blur yet again for a few long seconds, during which the alien strode back over and hefted him by his hair.

The sharp nails just barely avoiding his scalp tore out tufts of silky locks that Lance meticulously maintained, and he yelped. “Oh, is there a problem, princeling?” the alien hissed, his voice that Lance might’ve found beautiful in a different setting sending chills up his spine. “Is there something wrong with my voice?” Lance didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer and didn’t respond.

“My people, in their dying moments, had screams that could shatter eardrums and burst heads. I was never very good at that, but I was resistant to it.” Lance didn’t understand why there was so much vitriol in the alien’s tone. Why was he doing this? “The conquerors who came to our formerly peaceful planet stuffed rags down our throats and cut off heads to save themselves from it.” Despite the situation, Lance had it in himself to be horrified. What an awful fate, and he gritted out, despite his anger and confusion,

“I’m sorry for your loss.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. The fire needling away in the core of the stranger’s eyes blazed to life, and Lance gasped for breath as the hand dropped him onto the floor, pinning him in place as it latched brutally around his throat.

“You’re _sorry_ , princeling? Sorry for _what_ exactly? That when my planet sent distress signals to Altea—the mighty, peaceful Altea that was advanced beyond any other world in the quadrant—your _father_ turned us away in the name of remaining pacifist? Sorry that my planet burned at the hands of an empire defeated mere _quintants_ after attempting to seize Altea? Tell me, princeling, just what your apologies mean.” The force the words were uttered with was overwhelming, acid and hatred seething from the abyss of gouging teeth and flaming expression. Lance gagged for breath desperately, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth while his face purpled. He’d always said that it wasn’t his color, much to Keith’s chagrin. He wasn’t as entertained with his snide comments now, and the moment the alien seemed to calm and unlocked his grip, Lance gasped for breath desperately, coughing over the floor. He was sure if he’d had anything else left in his stomach, that would’ve come up too.

Lance didn’t know what to say. He was entirely unaware of everything his captor had told him, but admitting that would just get him killed, probably even faster than the fate already barreling at him if the circlet of rapidly bruising marks on his neck meant anything. Lance bit his lip, only to draw blood as his teeth sunk in faster than he wanted when his captor twisted his bound arms brutally in his overpowering grip. Lance felt him lean in close, the same ricochet and all too loud effect occurring as the creature hissed into his ear.

“Answer me, princeling, or you can rot here with one scale before I come back to finish the job.”

Lance was not a creature accustomed to begging. Not for his life, not for a break from his tutoring, not even for an extra pastry or two from the palace kitchens, but the thought of going insane while surrounding by the trophies of his lost kinsmen lit an insatiable fear at his very core that had him croaking out between pained gasps, “I’m sorry for not knowing.”

He heaved in relief as his arms were released, throbbing as the blood returned to the limbs.

“That’s what I like to hear,” the creature told him, and Lance reminded himself that if he ever got out alive, he was going to have to research species with the ability to send their voices rattling through his skull. He never wanted to encounter anything like it again. The creature and it’s scaled body skulked along the walls, fingertips tracing over the displays with an anger Lance could see was barely kept in check.

“I realize that, unless I get truly lucky, I will never see the Alteans burn,” the alien mused, a long tail that Lance hadn’t taken note of before thrashing wickedly. His claws scraped along the glass with a horrific shriek, but Lance was grateful that the sound, for the most part, was benign. Lance shivered, sprawled stomach down on the floor, cheek pressed against the ground for so long it had gone numb. “Still, I must try and do _something_ , and though I was aiming for the king, I think it’s suitable to see the beloved, charming prince who has been known to love his people so, be torn apart.” Lance shook his head, working up spit on his tongue to fling when the alien next decided to get too close for comfort.

“You won’t,” Lance swore, and though his voice was hoarse and reflective of his pain, he was proud of the flinty pride still within. “Allura or Shiro or Keith will find you, and then you’re a dead man walking. You can run, but Keith’s got ears like satellites, Shiro has his arm, and Allura can bench press them both without knocking her crown out of place.” The creature stiffened, the scales covering its body lifting reflexively before settling again.

“Big words from a prince who can’t even shapeshift.” Lance tasted something bitter in the back of his mouth. His magic had always been a sore spot. His father had scolded him for banishing tutors that had been particularly harsh about it, but Lance’s ears were too hot and the scornful looks they cast his way too fresh in his mind to care.

“What did you do to me?” he demanded to know. Another settling of scales.

“A simple block, as provided by the tonic slipped into your drink.” Lance’s mind—always hyperactive, as father often said—worked furiously to jejune what servant despised him enough to betray him to a serial killer. Lance had always thought they were kind masters, but things were not as Lance had once believed if the alien’s rage meant anything.

“In one way or another, I’ll escape.”

“I doubt that, princeling,” the alien snapped, striding over with his fiery eyes flared up again, so hot the core of them was tinged blue. “That’s what the others said, every single one. You Alteans are an arrogant breed, you know? Always so keen on your gods and magic, and then when they desert you it is a matter of two little hooks on your cheeks to undo you entirely. Like pulling a thread from an unknotted seam, you will unravel, just as they all have.”

Lance gulped. His head pounded, but he recognized that the more he persisted and the less fear he showed, the angrier his captor got. That was no good. He needed to stall. Lance would not survive if he insulted the man too much. He would simply lose his cool and flash those wicked claws or the barbs on his tail—they glinted unnaturally—to slaughter him where he laid. It pained Lance, who could not deny the claims that he and his people were perhaps a bit too confident in themselves. Submissiveness did not come easily to Lance, but he was running out of options. His captor had the son of his most hated foe, and if Lance had learned anything from the history lessons he endured, it was that a moment of revenge often required nothing but a strong enough emotion to seize the mind.

“Please,” he groveled. “I’m just the prince, not my father. I’m sorry for what happened—may the gods bless their souls—but doing this won’t solve anything. Let me go, and I will make amends.” It pained Lance, truly.

“Oh, shut up,” the creature snarled. “I had plans to kill your father, yes, but Alfor is not the true prize. You are not a daughter, but you serve the same purpose as mine did, lovely as she was. A placeholder, though beloved. I don’t want your father. To kill you and send your scaleless body back to the palace would be the sweetest prize of all.” He forced Lance against the wall and knelt down in front of him. His breath was hot and sour in Lance’s nose, who gagged and subsequently lost the saliva he’d been working up.

Lance’s entire body hurt, but the claws tipping the stranger’s hands were drawing close to his face. They caressed his jaw in a manner that did not cut, but let Lance know that was only because he was didn’t want them to yet. The alien growled, again in that voice that chorused its discords within Lance’s pointed ears.

“I’ll enjoy this, princeling. I already have a pair just like your sister’s, but now I’ll have the real thing.” Lance felt panic really and truly hit, as he snapped his teeth at the hand coming to rest on his cheek, grazing the skin and pushing the alien to yank his head hard enough to rip out a chunk of white hair.

“Stop it!” Lance kicked, hissing as he felt the first prick of pain blossoming from the gouge being slowly made on his cheek. The alien grinned, showing off a full set of black teeth.

“I am owed my justice, princeling.” Lance hated the word from his lips. Nobody called him that, not even Lotor when he was in a mood. Even so, as much as Lance wanted to live and return home to dance with an unwilling Keith, run through the palace halls with Pidge and taste test Hunk’s cooking, hug his father, sister, he wondered if the alien was wrong. Lance was not so vain to deny what he said. If Altea had defeated the people who had destroyed his home so quickly, he couldn’t say the creature, angry and full of hate as he was, was wrong in desiring his revenge. Lance kicked harder.

“Stop! Please, just let me to talk to you for a tick.” The creature snorted.

“You cannot spare your life with your silver tongue.” Lance nodded.

“I don’t know what happened to your people and your planet, your family. I’m sorry for that, but please, this has nothing to do with the common Alteans. Once you kill me, stop, please. Leave them out of it. You’ll have everything you were ever deserved. They shouldn’t die for what my family did.” The creature hissed.

“A sacrifice for your people? How noble.” Lance tried to hold his head high, chin jutting out proudly.

“I’ll even go quietly if that’s what you want. Just please, stop going after Altean civilians.” Lance trembled from where he was pressed into the wall, biting back a scream as a nail hooked under one scale. Altea was not free of crime, murder, serial killers, but very few chose to kill as the alien did. It was not a simple process, tearing off a scale.

“I’ll take you up on your offer, with one modification. Just like every other filthy one of you I’ve killed, severing your people from their gods, I want to hear you scream.”

Lance wished he had his earrings, and braced himself for the pain. It was worse than he could’ve ever imagined.

His back arched unnaturally, cracking bones in places Lance didn’t have the presence of mind to think about as he screamed to the heavens, to whatever deity was out there to listen. His body tried desperately to shift, but he kept running into the block that lit a fire behind his eyes and electrified his entire body anytime he tried to fight it. The pain was blinding, leaving him to focus on nothing but it and the claws severing nerves and muscle and power that was integral to the very core of Lance’s being.

He howled, eyes rolling back into his head while his hands raked down the wall, splitting nails and scraping his fingers with absolutely pathetic pain in comparison to the agony engulfing Lance whole.

At the beginning Lance had said he would’ve gone quietly if that was what the creature wanted, but when the world was crashing down around him in galvanizing agony that had his head cracking back against the wall while tears streamed down his sob twisted face there was nothing to be done but scream, an unrelenting cry to just let it end.

Words were unthinkable, an impossible concept Lance couldn’t imagine utilizing in his current state, and they’d only just begun.

Lance could faintly hear the dark laughter of his torturer ringing horrifically in his ears, but that was quickly overpowered by his own shrieks, almost animalistic in nature. The pain was all there was, all there ever had been, all there ever could be, and Lance did not stop screaming even when he became aware of the sound of heavy blows landing on the door, nor when the creature hissed and withdrew his talons that left Lance a sobbing mess on the ground.

He heard someone gagging, likely at the sight around them as Lance had, but Lance couldn’t be bothered with caring. There were strong, furred arms around him, a furious hiss that made the hair on Lance’s arms stand up as it rattled his brain in his skull, and then nothing at all.

* * *

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and with no small amount of effort. His eyelids felt like they’d been cemented together, and his cheek burned painfully. Why did it hurt?

Lance gasped and sat up quickly, hands flying to touch his face. Oh god, did he still have his scales? What would the people think if their already defective prince, told so many times by so many different people that he’d never be as strong as Allura, was lacking a scale. They’d never take him seriously, he’d be banned from the council that already hated him, and—

Allura’s voice, urgent and worried cut into Lance’s spiraling thoughts, her dark hand landing on his arm.

“Lance?” His tear stained face turned to meet her eyes.

Frankly, she looked horrible.

Dark smears of color hung like the most depressing set of drapes Lance had ever seen under eyes, and those—Lance had always thought her eyes were beautiful, and no artist ever got them right in portraits—were shot through with red. Lance could be quiznacked if he cared. He threw his arms around her and didn’t mind in the slightest that her grip was all but crushing the breath from his lungs.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get there sooner, you started screaming and I thought we were going to be too late.” It would’ve been hard for anybody who hadn’t known her for their entire lives to make out what she was saying through her sobs, but Lance was just as much of a mess and shushed her apologies with an easy smile.

“You made it, I’m fine, ‘Lura. How did you guys even find me?” She sniffed and even though Lance was getting snot on her dress, didn’t let go.

“Your earring must’ve fallen on the ground when that _thing_ ,” she said the word with unexpected venom, “Dropped you originally. We started getting transmissions of your location immediately,” Lance praised the gods for emergency protocol, “But the signal was absolutely awful and kept copping out.” She drew back for a fraction of a second to unfurl a palm, the little purple gem lying in the center of it. “We found it off in the corner.” She shoved it onto the nearby nightstand and embraced him again.

“I was so scared,” Lance murmured into her hair, which was another part of her that he was speculating to be actively trying to strangle him. Allura rubbed his back and kept him close as she nodded.

“I know, but you’re here now, and we’re never going to let anything like that happen again.” Lance gave pause for a second.

“We’re?” Allura didn’t remove her head from over his shoulder to yell,

“Keith, Shiro, you can come in now, I’ve hugged him enough.” The door slid open almost immediately, and with previously unprecedented speed Lance had two very concerned Galra soldiers at his side. Keith’s ears were swiveling frantically like they tended to do when he got nervous, and Lance was surprised to see a very relieved smile on Shiro’s part.

“It’s good to see you alive and well, your highness. You had us all worried.” Lance grinned, waving him off.

“You know me, Shiro. I’m hard to keep down. Anyway, drop the formalities. You know nobody cares when we’re alone.” Allura socked him on the arm, and Lance winced for effect.

“Ouch, hitting a man while he’s down, I see how it is.” She rolled her eyes, and Keith bent down to give him a very uncharacteristic but not at all unwelcome hug, brief though it was. When Lance raised a brow, he shrugged and looked at the ground.

“I’m glad you’re safe, is all.” Lance hummed knowingly but didn’t argue with him, which he found to be something of an accomplishment, personally. He flopped back on his bed, able to relax with the strongest people he knew safely stationed around him.

“So am I, lemme’ tell you,” Lance replied, and upon seeing the somewhat nervous laughter that followed, was quick to change the subject. “Anyway, I feel sane and all, but am I, like, okay?” He kept his eyes up and a mischievous upturn to his lips, but the concern he felt for the subject was real. Allura nodded.

“The palace physicians were able to reattach the part of your scale that had been—ah, shall we say, upended?” She smiled, but Lance didn’t miss the worried furrow of her brow. He’d have to talk with her later. “The only difference is, well,” she sighed, and waved a hand. As per usual, the lights in the room switched off, and Lance was made acutely aware of the turquoise glow being emitted from just under his left eye.

“Ah,” Lance managed after a moment, but wasn’t exactly displeased. It was unusual, but privately Lance remembered the stories of the truly gifted alchemists that endured the same effect and wondered what that made him. He pushed the thought to the side. That was something to be saved for later, probably reckless, experimentation. Lance sighed dramatically, a hand flying over his forehead as Allura turned the lights back on.

“I’m never going to be able to turn the lights out during a ball and slip away again,” he groaned. It was then Keith’s turn to roll his eyes—to be fair, he was usually the one tasked with tracking Lance down again—and Allura’s to look sympathetic. Meanwhile, Shiro took a glance at the holographic update coming from his wrist.

“King Alfor, Pidge, and Hunk are on their way,” he announced. Lance grinned.

“Great! More people to dazzle with my new glow.” Collective groans ensued, and Lance found that as long as nobody was truly hurt, he was just fine with that.  



End file.
